“I meant to come earlier but it rained and there’s always the problem of slipping” she told Shoshana who tried to welcome her into the house.

“No” the old lady said firmly “you have more than enough to do without entertaining me. I’m just next door. I’m sure we’ll see a lot of each other.” She thrust the basket into Shoshana’s hands and was off picking her way down the rough path. Shoshana glimpsed the wave of a hand as the Rebbetzin disappeared into her home.

Since they had moved into this house with its wild garden and its high-ceilinged rooms there had been a nonstop procession of neighbors and acquaintances bearing welcome gifts and questions — questions Shoshana found hard to deflect. Children zooming up and down the street on their bikes rang the bell to ask if there were any children who could come out and play. Shoshana shook her head. “No.” Silently she added “Not yet.”

The unexpected kindness of the Rebbetzin’s welcome buoyed her through the next few weeks as she and her husband Binyamin unpacked box after box working until it seemed they were the only ones still awake and the only sound to be heard was the ragged cry of other people’s babies.